Ch.44: Men in Masks

Elle called early the next morning. "How is he?" she said.

I closed the bedroom door and padded over to the kitchen. "He's still sleeping."

"Do you need anything?"

"I honestly don't know." I rubbed my eyes with one hand, but they still felt gritty with exhaustion. I'd barely slept last night, convinced that if I did, Jude would need me again.

There was a moment of silence, but it felt weighted, as if Elle was holding something back.

"Neil wants Jude to make a statement today," she said at last.

I felt a hot spark of anger. "That's the last thing he needs right now."

"I know, and I've told Neil that, but I wanted to give you a heads-up. If he calls, don't answer it. If he comes to the loft, don't let him in."

"I won't."

Someone knocked on the door, and my hand tightened around the phone. "If that's him, I'll hit him upside the head with a frying pan."

"And I fully support that, but Neil doesn't usually knock," Elle said.

The knock came again, and this time I hurried to answer it. If it was Neil, and he'd developed some basic manners, then I'd shut the door in his face. If it wasn't, then I had to be sure it wasn't something important.

Jude's bandmates stood outside, Franky at the front, Eric and Carlos huddled behind him.

"Oh," I said, because I'm nothing if not eloquent. "Hi."

"Who is it?" Elle hissed down the phone.

"Just give me a second," I said to the guys. I closed the door and brought the phone back to my ear. "It's the rest of the band. Should I let them in?"

From what I'd seen of them, they had a good relationship with Jude, but how close could they really get when they all knew that their time with Angels & Demons was limited?

I had no idea if any of them knew Darrell, or if Jude would want them here.

"Elle?" I said, when she didn't respond.

"I'm thinking."

I waited.

"Let them in," Elle said at last.

I opened the door and smiled sheepishly at the guys. "Sorry about that."

"Can we come in?" Franky asked.

"You can, but Jude's still asleep, and I'm not waking him up," I said.

The guys trooped into the loft, moving more quietly than I thought they normally did, like they were trying to take up less space.

Eric sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't really know what to say," he admitted.

"Neither do I," I said.

"How are you holding up?" Carlos asked.

"I honestly don't know."

We stood in silence, staring at each other for a moment, before I realised that someone was saying my name in a small, faraway voice. Elle was still on the phone.

"Sorry, can I call you back?" I said to her.

"Sure."

I hung up, and slid my phone into my pocket. "Can I get anyone some coffee?"

"That would be great, thanks," Franky said.

As I headed for the coffee-machine, the guys sat on the stools. I had no idea what to say to any of them, but I was glad that they were here. Since Darrell's death, the atmosphere in the loft had felt jagged and wrong, and having people here – even if I didn't really know them – softened those sharp edges.

I was just handing a steaming mug to Eric when I heard the bedroom door opening, then Jude shuffled around the corner, wearing the sweatpants I'd picked out last night.

His face was pale and drawn, his eyes bloodshot, his hair a mess, and my heart sharply constricted. I hadn't begun to process last night's realisation, and now it rushed back, making my chest feel tight.

I'd fallen in love with this man.

I loved him and it made my heart hurt because Darrell's death was one thing that I couldn't shield him from. I couldn't take away his pain.

"Do you want some coffee?" I asked quietly.

Jude shook his head.

"Can I get you anything else?"

Jude said nothing.

Eric pulled out a stool and beckoned Jude over. "Come on, mate. Let's talk," he said.

My phone rang again, and I headed into the bedroom to answer it, giving the guys some space. I expected it to be Elle, checking in again, so I was caught off-guard by the sound of heavy breathing.

Cold rushed over me.

I knew that breathing. It was the man who'd called me the morning after the Rush incident.

He said nothing, just continued to breathe, and I should have hung up, but I couldn't move.

"This isn't going to stop," he said.

Did I recognise his voice?

Had I heard it outside these calls?

This time I didn't give him the satisfaction of responding. I pulled in a long, silent breath, steadying my nerves then I forced myself to pull my phone away from my ear. The man said something else but I ended the call before I knew what it was. Maybe I couldn't stop him from calling, but I was done letting him know how much he scared me.

I tossed the phone onto the bed and curled my hands into fists to keep them from trembling.

I couldn't tell Jude, not now.

He'd been pissed when I'd kept it from him before, and maybe that had been a mistake, but this time was different. He'd just lost his best friend, and he needed time to process that before I reminded him about this fucking stalker.

But I needed to talk to someone.

Normally I'd turn to my parents or Tasha, but this would only scare them, and that didn't help anyone. That only left one person.

Elle.

She answered on the first ring. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just . . ." I glanced at the bedroom door and lowered my voice. "Are you busy?"

"No. Do you want me to come over?"

I hesitated, listening to the faint murmur of male voices from the kitchen. I didn't know Jude's bandmates, and maybe it would do him good if he had some time with just them.

"Can we meet somewhere else?"

"Do you know the Buttercup café near Regent's Park?" Elle said.

I didn't, but a quick Google search told it was only a few minutes' walk from the loft. "That works," I said. "See you in ten?"

"Sure."

The media were probably gathered outside the factory building, so I rummaged through my things until I found the blue cap and Ray-Bans that Annie had bought for me in Vegas. I stuffed my hair under the cap, threw on one of Jude's grey sweaters, and slid on the sunglasses. It wasn't the most fool-proof disguise, but I didn't immediately look like me, which was the best I could do at such short notice.

I'd have to leave Digger behind though. He was too recognisable now.

Jude didn't look up as I emerged from the bedroom; his head was bent, staring into a mug of coffee. I rested my hand on the back of his neck.

"I'm going out for a little bit, but if you need anything, you call me, okay?" I said.

Jude finally raised his head.

I'd never seen him look so tired, so sad, like all the sparkle and swagger had been sucked out of him, and my heart squeezed again.

I leaned down and gently kissed him.

"I won't be long," I whispered.

Jude nodded.

I kissed him once more, then I left to go meet Elle.

***

As I'd predicted, the press were thronged outside the building, armed with cameras and microphones, and I felt a powerful wave of disgust.

They didn't care that Darrell was dead. They didn't care that Jude was suffering. They just saw a story, one they wanted to squeeze dry.

A few people called out to me, but none of them used my name; hopefully they'd mistaken me for someone else who lived in the factory. I shoved through them, ignoring their questions, and broke into a jog.

If Jude had been thinking clearly, he'd have insisted on me calling Don, but the café was close enough that I wasn't in any danger, and the fresh air felt good in my lungs.

I'd see Elle, we'd talk about the stalker's latest call, we'd discuss Darrell and what we should do next, and then I'd go home to comfort the man I loved.

I reached the café before Elle, and ordered her favourite green smoothie and a cappuccino for myself, then sat at a small table outside and waited.

After a few minutes, my phone buzzed.

Almost there, Elle had texted. Is that a kale smoothie I see in front of you?

I looked around.

Elle stood on the opposite street, wearing my grey coat, but I almost didn't recognise her. Her blond hair was loose, like normal, but where it was usually styled to casual perfection, today it looked straggly and unbrushed.

Huge sunglasses covered her face, but I could still tell that she wasn't wearing makeup, and even though she was still one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen, there was something very vulnerable about her bare face. She seemed less sure of herself, like she took up less space in the world.

Elle smiled and lifted her hand in a wave, but it was half-hearted.

I smiled back and tapped the side of her smoothie.

When there was a lull in traffic, Elle crossed the road, pausing at the island in the middle and waiting for another lull so she could reach the café, and I felt some of the weight lift from my shoulders. I hadn't known Elle that long, but she was one of the best friends I'd ever had. The stalker's call had shaken me, Darrell's death was a black cloud hanging over my head, and all the unanswered questions were like little knives constantly digging into my skin, but Elle would help me make sense of it all.

A black van paused by the island where Elle stood. The driver's hood was pulled up, hiding his face, and I was seized by a sudden sense of deep, primal dread.

"Elle," I shouted, jumping out of my chair.

She frowned at me, clueless.

Behind her, the van door slid open and two men in black balaclavas jumped out. Elle was still turning, still not understanding what was going on, when the men grabbed her arms and dragged her towards the van. Elle screamed.

I didn't know how to throw a punch, but I ran for the van anyway, ready to bite, kick, and scratch to protect Elle.

She was so much smaller than her attackers, so much physically weaker, but she sure as hell didn't make it easy for them. She let herself go limp, smart girl, becoming dead weight that the men were forced to lift off her feet. It bought her precious seconds. As the men tried to stuff her into the van, the guy who'd served me my coffee raced out of the shop, overtaking me in a blink.

At the same time, a nearby motorcyclist threw his bike down, and ran to help. More people were shouting, several filming on their phones, and I heard at least one voice calling the police.

Elle landed a particularly solid kick to an attacker's kneecap; he swore and dropped her. Elle landed hard on the road.

The second man reached for her, but the motorcyclist was there, towering over Elle's attackers. The man that Elle had kicked promptly leaped into the van. The second hesitated, looking at Elle, before he followed his friend. The motorcyclist grabbed him, tried to drag him back out, and the would-be kidnapper swung and punched him – pretty stupid, since the guy wore a helmet.

I fell to my knees beside Elle. Her palms were skinned and bloody, and she'd lost her sunglasses; her eyes were wild, and when I reached for her, she yelped and scrabbled back.

"Elle, it's me, it's me," I said.

Her kidnappers shoved the motorcyclist back, hard enough that he reeled and almost fell, then they slid the door shut. The van roared to life and sped away.

Elle's breath came in ragged pants, her eyes darting left and right. Bruises were already forming where the men had grabbed her.

"It's me," I said again, touching her shoulder.

Elle let out a little whimper and collapsed into my arms.

I was vaguely aware of someone telling me that the police were on the way, and the voice was familiar but so muffled that I couldn't place it. I looked up. The motorcyclist stood over me, big enough that he blocked out the sun, and even though he'd helped us, I couldn't help a tremor of fear.

Then he pulled off his helmet, and my eyes bugged.

"Don?" I said.

Jude's driver was breathing hard, sweat beading on his forehead.

"What are you doing here?" I said.

He gestured to his bike, still lying in the road. "Just in the right place at the right time."

Don crouched beside us, his bike leathers creaking, and Elle shied away from him. I wasn't sure she even realised who he was.

"The police are on their way," he said, his voice quieter than normal.

He glanced around, then inched closer. It took me a moment to realise why. All around us people were filming and taking photos, either intending to sell the material to the press, or hoping to use the drama for cheap social media clicks, and Don was trying to shield us as much as possible.

I wrapped my arms tighter around Elle, comforting her and hiding her at the same time, while I tried to pretend that my heart wasn't about to pound through my ribs.

Those men had been a split-second away from getting Elle into their van. What the fuck would have happened then?